Saved by the Sun
by Hr'awkryn
Summary: After the Archdemon was defeated, Alistair threw himself into rebuilding the Grey Wardens, gladly leaving the throne to Anora. He thought this new chapter in his life would be predictable and somewhat tamer. A Warden-Commander must put adventure, heroics, and desire aside to protect the order, after all. A chance encounter sets in motion a different fate. - M rating.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The garden was a peaceful place- quiet, serene, colorful, even if there wasn't much left. The Blight had not reached here, had not overwhelmed the country so deep into the mountains, but that did not mean that this keep had not felt the effects of devastation elsewhere. When one's home is nestled in the mountains, overlooking the Waking Sea, you are safer from darkspawn, but vulnerable to the elements.

Trade had ceased early on, while nobles elsewhere tried to protect their lands, merchants and farmers ran for their lives instead of plying their trade. And so little things changed in the remote keep: men left to defend the country, noblewomen learned to stitch gauntlets, gardens gave up their flowers and grew carrots and potatoes instead. Now that the Blight was over, the usual way of the country was beginning again, but there was less. Less food, less people, less beauty.

Despite all that, she still liked to come to the garden. In fact, she came as often as possible. Perhaps it was because it reminded her of the garden at her home, or because the quiet beauty of the flora made her feel like she was someplace else, someplace better. Whatever the reason, it was always accompanied by the fact that the Bann had written off the garden as a dirty, grubby place and forgotten it. He never came looking for her here.

She breathed a heavy sigh as she turned away from the few rosebushes which were permitted to survive the garden's overhaul a year ago, and made her way inside the keep. The weather was slowly allowing itself to be called 'summer', but at this late hour, a chill was on the air. Upon entering the keep, she made her way to her chambers as quietly as possible. Most were asleep, but that was when the danger was greatest.

She sometimes toyed with the idea of making a great deal of noise instead, but then she would only announce her presence. Coming to her room as late as possible was a new routine- previously, she had tried going to bed immediately after the evening meal. But that hadn't worked either; she couldn't keep him out, and he had only known where she was for a longer period of time. Every approach had its advantages and disadvantages, but none of them had really worked. Still, she had to try, for her own sake.

One last glance down the hall, another hesitation to listen closely for sounds of another nearby, and then she carefully opened her chamber door. Her gaze concentrated on the empty halls as she slipped inside. It was so late, so quiet. She allowed herself to relax and shut the door. Perhaps he would not come tonight, perhaps he had found someone new; it had been nearly a week since the last time… She turned into the room, moved toward her bureau, and gasped. She had relaxed too soon.

He was waiting for her. He was standing in the shadows of the corner, arms crossed, angry.

"You made me wait a very long time," he said quietly.

A moment after the words were said, he was on her, grabbing her by the neck and tossing her against the bed. She struggled, as she always did, but she dare not make any noise. A whimper here or there he would ignore, but anything more would only incense him, and the event would be harsher and crueler. He was angry already, and when he was angry he abandoned any pretense that she was anything more than a tool for him.

Sometimes, when he was feeling kinder, or in the mood for romance, he would undress her carefully, pet her, talk to her, kiss her. Among lovers these actions would have been comforting, but they disgusted her. No matter how it was dressed up, it was still the same thing. She almost preferred it when he was savage with her, as he was now. In some ways, it hurt less.

He did not bother undressing her now. She was forcefully bent over the side of the bed, her dress pulled up, her arms held down as he took what he wanted. He held her neck down on the mattress, nearly choking her. He hissed degradations as he claimed her, and only was quiet when he was finally through. After a moment, he stood, preparing himself to leave, as she slid down onto the floor, a crumpled, bruised, shamed mess.

He headed for the door, and stopped, his back to her. "Next time you hide from me, I will not be so forgiving."

The door shut behind him, leaving the room dark. Picking herself up, she calmly walked to her bureau and began to take down her now tangled hair. She did not notice the bruises on her neck, her wrists; she never looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't even bother crying anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Bann of Ulstermont was making his way to breakfast when he was intercepted by a valet.

"A message for you, Ser!" The valet struggled to keep up with the Bann's stride. "Visitors for you, in the courtyard. Arrived just this morning."

The Bann was impassive as he heard the news. "Very well. Instruct the servants to prepare quarters for them suited to their station. I was not expecting anyone. Who are they? Deputies from the Queen? More displaced refugees from the Blight? Nobility?"

"The leader says he is the Commander of the Grey Wardens, Ser. There are over a score of others with him."

This gave the Bann some pause. He nodded to the valet and sent him off to begin preparations for the guests. As he continued to meet his wife in the dining room, he wondered why the Warden-Commander would pay his keep a visit. He had heard that the renegade Wardens had traveled to the far corners of Ferelden to gather support for defense against the Blight, but they had succeeded without finding his remote holding, and the Blight was over. Visitors made the Bann somewhat uneasy. It would be safe to say that Ulstermont did not … encourage…visitors, and the Bann liked it that way.

No matter their purpose, thought the Bann, it is politic to be gracious hosts. Especially as the Wardens were heroes, celebrated throughout the country by all. It was particularly important that he impress his guests, in light of the weight their decisions carried with Anora, the Queen. She, as well as all of the Bannorn, knew how the Wardens had 'allowed' her to rule. This put her in their debt, something many, including the Bann, had noticed.

He reached his destination, and sat down to breakfast still deep in thought. Elsewhere, the Warden-Commander's party was unsaddling horses, the keep's servants were hastily preparing bedrooms and barracks, and one young woman tied a ribbon around her neck and sighed as she steeled herself for another day.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Alistair dismounted in the courtyard of Ulstermont Keep and tried to stretch as subtly as possible. It was the last stop on the list before he finally guided his newly collected recruits back to Soldier's Peak, and he was thankful for it. After introducing himself to the servants who welcomed him, he set about finding the stable master to arrange care for the horses, and then to organizing his band before they became too scattered. He moved about his tasks like a golem under control; they were so ingrained in him by now that the orders came without thinking.

His list of tasks complete, he sought out the one who had forced that instinct upon him: his second-in-command, Zevran. Not for the first time, Alistair smirked to think how ironic it was that he and Zevran would end up working together, voluntarily. However, some things just make you trust a person. Like battling an Archdemon, for example.

It didn't hurt that Zevran had not rejoined the Crows when the opportunity had been handed to him. After the Blight, Zevran had approached him and asked if his skills would be useful. Since Zevran was smirking less than usual, Alistair had been pretty sure Zevran meant his skills as an assassin. He had replied that rebuilding the Wardens would take more than one trainer with more than one set of skills, and he would be glad to have him along.

It turned out that Zevran was more useful than Alistair could have predicted. Almost immediately, they both learned how little Alistair knew of politics. Zevran maneuvered political situations like a fish in water. Even the most subtle of actions or displays of favor at court could have significant consequences, something Zevran quickly taught Alistair. Their alliance had proved fruitful; much of what they had accomplished so far was due to Zevran's capable political maneuverings, and his ability to somehow simultaneously flatter and threaten the Queen.

For one, Queen Anora had given them the rights and deeds to Soldier's Peak. Anora had offered them Amaranthine, the holdings of the former Arl Howe, but after Roy Cousland's sacrifice, no one in their party felt right claiming them. Amaranthine had instead fallen into Fergus Cousland's hands, in a somewhat satirical turn of events. Had Anora known she would also loose Soldier's Peak, she may have been less gracious about bestowing Amaranthine on Fergus. She had wanted to reclaim Soldier's Peak for herself, to use the fortress as a bargaining chip in the future, but at Alistair's request, Zevran had won it for them. Alistair did not want to go back to the base in Denerim, with all its old memories. Its close proximity to Anora made it entirely undesirable.

Soldier's Peak was larger, remote, and spacious, and would serve all their needs. The maze at the entrance only helped Alistair feel more removed from Anora's suspicious reach. It seemed she had a difficult time believing that he was not raising an army to overthrow her and take the crown, instead of actually rebuilding the Wardens.

In addition to their new headquarters, Anora had recognized the Warden's position in the Bannorn, and the Dryden family had been declared the official traders for the Wardens. Most importantly, Anora had declared that the Bannorn accept them as honored guests, and encouraged those who were able and willing to join their ranks. Even if it was all just rhetoric, by backing the Wardens, Anora had ensured that Alistair and Zevran were to be successful at their task.

Moving through a crowd of horses and people, all taller than his elven target, wasn't easy, but Alistair finally found Zevran. He was sternly instructing a young boy, a stablehand, as to the care of his horse. Zevran was rarely so serious, but he had become particularly attached to his horse since taking to the road. She was a golden mare, slight but very strong with a light step, with a black mane. Alistair would never suggest the affection stemmed at least somewhat from the drastic increase in comfort since trudging around Ferelden on foot.

Zevran handed the reins to the stableboy and patted his horse as she was led away. Without turning, he sighed. "These local humans never do seem to get used to taking instruction from an elf. It would entertain me a great deal if they were not so clumsy in the care of my bellezza."

He turned to Alistair and the two of them began to weave their way through the chaos towards the keep entrance. Although he had grown used to calling Zevran 'friend', he did not know if he would ever be accustomed to the way Zevran always seemed to know exactly who and what was around him at every moment. At times, his sense was uncanny. Alistair had once tried to learn this skill from Zevran, but he had only succeeding in making his head hurt.

As they walked, Alistair and Zevran discussed this, the last of their official visits. "I'll be glad when this is over. Acting official all the time is really exhausting."

Zevran smirked. "The people like to see a real hero, my friend. It is well that we are asking for recruits while the Blight is still a fresh memory. Besides, is it not marvelous to travel across this wonderful country?"

Grinning at his friend's sarcasm, Alistair began to look about the keep's inner courtyard. Only he and Zevran were now free from the commotion in the yard. As he gazed about, something did not sit right with him.

"Yes, this place is different," said Zevran. "It has not suffered as all others have suffered."

"Lucky them. Hopefully they are grateful we ended the Blight before it could reach them, and we can be on our way to soft cushy beds and real kitchens by tomorrow morning, fully loaded with recruits and gold and cheese."

Zevran snorted. "It is good to hear you know your priorities, Warden-Commander."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"My Lord, announcing Ser Alistair Theirin, Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens."

Alistair walked into the receiving room and gave a short bow before Bann Declan of Ulstermont. The back end of the room is slightly raised, a few steps creating a dais where the Bann waits. The Bann sits in an oversized, dark wooden chair, behind a long desk. There is a matching chair next to him, presumably for his wife, who instead is sitting among other ladies on benches and cushions.

"Welcome to Ulstermont, Commander. I trust your journey was comfortable?" The Bann's smile was congenial, but fixed in place. "We are honored to host such a renowned order of heroes in our humble household. Do be sure to request anything you need during your stay. And ah, how long can we expect to delight in the company of our guests?"

Alistair's responding smile was no less contrived than the Bann's. "Thank you, Ser. We will not impose on your hospitality for more than a few days. We have come so that the Wardens might take an account of the effect of the Blight on Ulstermont, so that a thorough history of this Blight would be documented. I have also come in search of any men and women qualified and willing to join the Grey Wardens. As you may know, our numbers were reduced severely during the Blight, and I intend to repopulate the order to deal with any remaining darkspawn threats and to ensure readiness in the event of another situation in Ferelden. With your generosity and cooperation, we will accomplish our goals quickly."

Zevran and the few full Wardens they had brought stood behind Alistair as he engaged in oft-repeated conversation. As was his custom, Zevran took in the attitude of the room and its occupants. Immediately, he knew that Ulstermont would be a bit different than their visits to other castles and keeps. The Bann clearly did not welcome their presence, all but glaring at Alistair as he spoke. The Bann's lack of warmth had been unusual elsewhere but not unheard of. The Grey Wardens had been fully credited with the ending of the Blight, but there were still some who believed Loghain had been in the right. Despite this, members of the household were usually keen to meet and cooperate with the Grey Wardens, if for no other reason than that it would be politically correct.

However, the Bann was now telling Alistair that his keep lacked able-bodied men, and that he would appreciate the Wardens not soliciting those he had. They had left, the Bann explained, to defend the lower regions against the Blight or to join armies elsewhere. The message that the Wardens have no reason to linger is thinly concealed.

It was also odd that Bann Declan's wife, sitting among a dozen or so women and girls to the side of the dais, was seemingly unaware that anyone was even in the room. In fact, she and all others in the receiving room, save two guards and the servant who had introduced them, were completely ignoring their party. They talked amongst themselves quietly and looked anywhere but at Alistair and the Wardens. The appearance of the visitors has brought an anxious tone to the room, and the ladies reflect that nervousness in their movements. None, save the Bann's wife, are smiling.

Zevran listened to the last of the exchange between Alistair and the Bann. A servant was called to bring them to their rooms, and as they followed, Alistair and Zevran exchanged a loaded look. The last visit on their tour would not be as effortless as they had hoped.

Alistair let slide a heavy sigh, the only other sound as their boots echoed in the otherwise silent corridors. He glanced around the empty halls, into empty rooms. Ulstermont had, so far, proven to be isolated, unwelcoming, and now, practically vacant. 'No, not the least bit creepy', thought Alistair.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who is following and/or reviewing! You really make my day, you've no idea. I am trying to keep the chapters coming as best I can. More reviews fuel the fire! Criticism is love!

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Chapter 4

As soon as the servant left them to their rooms, Zevran motioned Alistair inside his chamber and shut the door. It had barely clicked in place before Alistair spoke.

"How long do we have to stay here? We are really, really not wanted."

Zevran sighed. "If we go too soon, it is as if we ran off. I do not think that is very representative of the Grey Wardens. We stay a day or so, we take their account of the Blight, and we leave then."

"But the Bann is practically shoving us out the door! Wouldn't it be more polite and less, you know, violence-provoking to just leave?" Alistair pouted. "I don't think he has all his boards nailed together, if you know what I mean."

Zevran smiled and confidently crossed his arms. "Oh Alistair, are you scared of that man? He will not hurt you while I am here," Zevran tsked and pouted, mocking his friend even more. "You don't think I could protect you from just one puffed-up nobleman? Do you really think so little of me?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I am just saying we are wasting our time here. The Bann said himself, there's no one left to recruit. And it is very creepy here. It's so remote, and the fact that the Bann is the only man here who isn't a servant or a guard…"

"I envy him too, Alistair, so many unclaimed beauties about." Alistair rolled his eyes at Zevran's typical sarcasm. Zevran nodded, conceding to seriousness at last. "I know what you mean. This place… much of it is strange. Irregular." Zevran poured a glass of wine, left by servants who prepared the room. "But the best course of action is to act as if nothing is wrong. Then, nothing will be," Zevran said, handing Alistair a glass.

Alistair sighed, taking the glass and sitting heavily in a chair, noting Zevran's pleasure at his surrender. Alistair grumbled in his head as he drank. He was tired, and tired of being a politician. More than anything, he wanted to return to Soldier's Peak and really begin rebuilding the order. He had hoped that this, the last stop in their tour, would be simple and painless. Well, perhaps it still would be. He, Zevran, and his other Wardens had been invited to dine with the Bann that evening. No one likes a bunch of unruly new soldiers in their home uninvited, so it was understandable that the Bann was so prickly.

Uplifted by his own positivity, Alistair went to his own rooms to organize and begin the process of gathering the Bann's account of the Blight. He would tour the grounds, check in with his recruits in the barracks, and assign Wardens to interview the Bann's captain of the guard and other members of the household.

Refreshed and papers gathered, Alistair headed out, nodding to Zevran in his room across the hall as he went. Zevran looked up from his own notes to acknowledge him with a grin, but the smile was brief. While he was glad to lift Alistair's spirits by playing off the 'creepy' aspects of Ulstermont, he knew better to ignore the signs. Something was amiss here, something untoward, and Zevran only hoped that they would not be caught up in it.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I know the last few chapters have been rather short- hopefully this is better! I am happily surprised that I have a few people following the story... you've no idea how much I appreciate it! Grad students aren't allowed any self-esteem, and working on this story is my only non-academic happy place at the moment.

Please don't hesitate to review: Criticism is love! I would really like to hear what you think- Always trying to improve!

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Chapter 5

Alistair ate his food very slowly, and very carefully. He always ate in this deliberate way when dining with nobles and politicians, because Zevran had instructed him to do so.

None of their former party had quite understood the ravenous, consuming hunger of Alistair and Roy, and therefore they had suffered much teasing, especially from Leliana and Wynne. Alistair hadn't known whether to laugh or blush when Zevran had informed him, quite early in their new alliance, that his practice of wolfing down everything in sight was disconcerting to the others at the table. He had further been informed that his table manners were nonexistent. Well, growing up, most of his meals were eaten on the go or on the ground, so there was no surprise there. And the Templars certainly hadn't worried much about which fork to use, either. So Alistair had endured lessons from Zevran to learn to appear civilized at the dinner table. He did his best, but he couldn't be blamed about his growling stomach as a result.

However, Alistair's rumbling tummy would probably have been the least awkward part of the dinner. The Bann had proven to be a tactful but prickly host, inviting the Wardens to his table the past two nights but making no effort to be pleasant. Bann Declan had not stood in the way of the Warden's purpose, but also had not so much as lifted a finger to aid them. At each meal, he sat languidly in his chair, ignoring any attempt at conversation.

At least the Bann's wife, Clara, was more amiable. She did all her husband's socializing for him, energetically requesting tales of their quests during the Blight and defeating the Archdemon. For once, Alistair and Zevran are happy to relate their stories, due to the increasing discomfort at the keep. For once, Alistair suspects that Zevran is flirting to gain some sense of normalcy, rather than out of a desire to seduce. Even this tactic fails, for despite the abundance of women, none except the Bann's wife would even look at the visitors, let alone acknowledge Zevran's well-placed innuendos. The first night at dinner, Zevran's failure at flattery with the ladies had caused him noticeable distress. He had leaned over to quietly ask Alistair, "Do you think I am losing my touch?" to which Alistair had seriously responded, "I am more concerned that we are trapped in the Fade again, or worse, these women are all from Haven". Looking up to find the Bann's wife looking at them questioningly, the two smiled broadly in unison.

Thankfully, Clara finds Zevran delightful, and their banter eases the tension somewhat.

Except for meals and audiences held with residents of Ulstermont, the keep is quiet and empty, save for a few servants. In the two days since their arrival, Alistair had lost his positive outlook due to the 'increasing creepiness' of their environment, the result being that Alistair had become somewhat skittish and impatient to leave. Zevran conceded his point, and they were scheduled to leave in the morning.

Finally the meal is over, and all head upstairs to bed. Alistair briefly meets with his Wardens and Zevran, to pass along instructions for their departure. The Wardens leave to inform the recruits, and rest for travel the next day. As the door shuts behind them, Alistair slumps into a nearby armchair and accepts a cup of wine from Zevran.

"Oh I am so relieved that we are leaving tomorrow. Even better that we go to Soldier's Keep and not some other puffed-up noble's estate."

Zevran leaned against a wardrobe as he drank from his cup. "I agree. Managing the lot of you is extremely taxing." Alistair responded with a scowl. "I have decided I much prefer the politics of Antiva. My fingers itch to twirl daggers instead of pens. And since you have forbidden me from harmless conversation with the recruits-"

"It is not harmless," Alistair interjected, sitting up. "That young rogue-type wanted to come with us until you overwhelmed him with your wandering hands and teasing smiles and erotic suggestions-"

"It seems you have been paying very close attention to me, my friend."

"-and whatever else it is you do. I won't have you scaring off anyone else." Alistair fell back in his chair again.

Zevran grinned. "Not everyone is scared off. But as I was saying, due to the constraints on my behavior, I am feeling quite… constrained… myself. Particularly here. I usually am able to find at least one or two enticing prospects on our travels," Alistair raised an eyebrow at that statement, "but no one here seems to enjoy my company," Zevran pouted.

"Well, we will soon be back and you can keep whatever company your deprived nature wants."

"Why yes, I know, but I do like to sample the regional flavor. And there are so many beautiful choices," Zevran looked at Alistair quizzically, somberly, "Have you also noticed the unusual…quality of the court the Bann has here? It is almost as if…" a look from Alistair prodded Zevran on. "As if it is intentional. As if he collected them."

Alistair gave Zevran a hard stare, and then shook his head in disbelief as he stood. "I can't believe this place, Zev. You're right, about the women. Something unpleasant is happening here, and that man is off his rocker. I will be glad to be done with him." Alistair finished his drink and made towards the door, to go to his own room. Zevran moved towards his bed, eager for some rest. Before Alistair left, he hesitated, turning back to address his friend.

"Zev…do you think we should look into it? Do you think we should stay and try to find out what the Bann is up to?"

Zevran shook his head. "Our intrusion would only breed more problems. Besides, we have our own concerns, building up the Wardens, no? We cannot jeopardize that."

Alistair conceded to his friend, nodding as he left the room. He knew that sometimes his commitment to honor and justice had only brought him into trouble. He also knew that his acceptance of the role of Warden-Commander was an important one, a crucial one, as he needed to build up the Warden ranks once again to help Ferelden heal from the Blight, and keep it protected. It was too much to risk when all he had was a suspicion that Ulstermont held some nefarious secret. So, Alistair tried to put it out of his mind, reminding himself that by lunch tomorrow, the keep would be only a distant, creepy memory.


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note: I really do apologize for the very long wait on this chapter. It was very difficult to write just due to the subject matter, and it didn't help that this is the busiest time of year for me with school. Thanks for your patience!

As a teaser, next chapter we will learn a little bit more about the mysterious lady.

Criticism is love- please review with all reactions/ideas!

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Chapter 6

Alistair's eyes popped open, suddenly awake. Rolling his eyes, he sat up in bed, stretching as his stomach began to growl away. It happened almost every night they were guests at a noble's estate, and dinner was…less than required to sate a Warden-sized appetite. Alistair was more annoyed than anything to be woken up by his stomach, but annoyance would be replaced by pain if he didn't attend to it. So he threw on a shirt and his boots, and made to advance on the kitchens.

On his travels, he had quickly learned that a visiting Warden-Commander found in the hallway late at night, his arms filled with pilfered snacks, is not a particularly professional or heroic sight. After getting caught the third or so time with his mouth full on the way back to his rooms, he had since taken to bringing a small bag with him, the regal-looking type that messengers used. Now when he got caught, it simply looked like he was going to the study for a late-night work session.

Alistair opened his chamber door, peeked both ways down the dark, empty hall, and with a smile, he thought of cheese and headed for the kitchens.

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She quietly walked down the corridor; her hands clasped, her gaze on the floor. He liked all of them to appear demure, and even though the halls were empty, the habit remained.

All the ladies had been asked by Clara, the Bann's wife, to join her in her private study for a nightcap and some gossip. They hardly ever had visitors at Ulstermont, as remote as it was, let alone those with the fame of the Grey Wardens. For the past two days Clara had been overwhelmed by the allure of the Wardens, and created any opportunity to elicit information and stories from them.

She would then collect the ladies of the keep about her at night to partake in girlish gossip, and recount every flirtation she had experienced that day. She went on about how one of her daughters would be so lucky to win the eye of a Warden, and told stories of imagined affections directed at them. Her daughters were her only true audience. Clara was so enamored with the heroes that she did not notice the reluctance of the ladies, their hesitation to share in a laugh. Perhaps she knew why they were afraid, and she didn't care. Perhaps pretending things were different was the only way she could manage.

She walked quietly, but quickly. Clara had kept them up late, and she was eager to reach her room. She rounded a corner, and saw something move in the shadows out of the corner of her eye. Before she could even look up, the figure moved across the hallway and thrust her into a small room. The room was for convenient storage for servants on this floor, and therefore the door was usually closed to hide the sight of linens and brooms. The door had been waiting open.

Sprawled on the floor and disoriented, she turned to face the door, to find the only source of light cut off as the door was shut. Something heavy was dragged across the stone floor to sit in front of the door. She was starting to feel panicked, but her real terror began when in one swift movement, the figure pulled her up off the floor and spoke.

"It seems you go out of your way to upset me, once again," hissed the Bann.

Her back was to him as he threw a hand over her mouth, cutting off her frightened gasp, pulling her to him. His hold on her is uncomfortably tight; her stance is unbalanced and awkward, as he bends her back so that he can lean down to whisper in her ear.

"I saw you. I saw you looking at them, each in turn, begging them with your eyes to take you from here, from me." His breath was harsh on her neck as he went on and on, his voice nearly a growl, shaking with his rage. Tears slipped down her face as she shook her head, denying his accusations even while so afraid. "What would you give them, you little whore? Would you give it to them better than you give it to me?"

He threw her to the floor, dislodging supplies in the organized room with a clatter. Usually he would not want to make so much noise, but his rage had taken him beyond caring. He bent down, grabbing at her in the dark, finally securing her arms despite her struggling. He held her up by her upper arms as he shook her, spitting insults and threats at her.

"You find them handsome, do you? They appeal to you more than I do?" She shook her head, reassured him, begged him to stop. "I, who have sheltered you; taken you in? Anyone in this country would have taken your place, when darkspawn were knocking on everyone's door. I saved you, and this is how you repay me?!"

He dropped her again, her head hitting the stone floor, hard. Before she could react, he was on her again, grabbing the collar of her dress and pulling her to her feet. In her terror, she tries to push him away, her usual mask of apathy gone. The sound of fabric tearing cuts through her soft cries, and the neckline of her dress separates in the Bann's hand. She turns away from him, around him, trying to get to the door, but he maintains his hold on her. She struggles against his hold around her waist, and her unusual resistance to his will only incenses him further. Keeping his hold on her waist, he gets a firm grip on her hair, and her thrashing stills as he pulls her head back to look into her face.

"Don't you know by now how to obey me? Or do I have to teach you again?" He releases her with a push.

Shaking with fear, she begs him to believe her, begs him to stop, tells him she never would disobey him, never would look at other men. His face contorts with anger as he advances on her, backing her against the wall. His hands circle her throat, squeezing, slowly cutting off her pleas. She is crying profusely, choking on her tears because of the lack of air. Suddenly he calms.

"Nothing but lies. It seems you are in need of a lesson, then," he said, loosening his hold on her neck. Despite the burn of fresh air in her throat, she tries to seize the opportunity of even this slight liberation and struggles to move away from him.

The Bann grabs her once again, this time pulling her to the floor. All her efforts to escape are easily overpowered by a boot between her shoulder blades. Small noises cut across her hopeless sobs: clinking metal, the slip of leather, rustling clothing. Suddenly she is pulled up by the back of her dress to her knees. Her skirts are thrown out of the way, and he takes her, again, more violently than ever before. Resistance comes at a price; his ferocity increases and he claws at her, pulling at her hair and tearing her dress further. He grips her bare skin, leaving bruises and scratches that bleed. For some time she is at the mercy of the cold stone floor, and her knees, elbows, and hands are raw.

When he is finished with her, he pulls her up to him again, holding her body in an awkward manner so that she can neither support herself nor move. A rough twist of her chin elicits a cry of pain, and allows him to look down on her so he can murmur a final warning. "I will never let you leave here, you must know that. You must know that you are… valuable to me. If you so much as glance at any other man, particularly our illustrious visitors," the venom in his voice made her shiver with fear, "I would be very displeased. Tonight's lesson would be a welcome event in comparison to the wrath you would deserve." He casually ran his fingers down her bare neck and shoulders as tears ran down her face.

"I know you are thinking that there is one thing which would release you from me." He turned her around completely, to face him full on. "I am very careful, my lady. I know how to bring you to the edge of pain, and misery, and bring you back again." He jerked her face up to gaze into her eyes. "You are mine. Always."

With that, he shoved her down again, and ignoring her gasp of pain, straightened his clothes and left the room. A narrow strip of light from the hall is all that accompanies the petrified woman on the cold stone floor.

* * *

Returning from the kitchens pleased with his excursion, Alistair is distracted from his loot by a noise down the hall. A moment of focus on the scuffling reveals a small room at an intersection in the hallway is the source. He stops and listens for a second, and a smirk crawls across his face. "Sounds like some servants were feeling frisky tonight," he whispers to himself.

A sharp sob of pain echoes from the room and the humor of the situation dissipates, removing the grin from Alistair's face as he suddenly realizes this is no mutual tryst. He is frozen in conflict with what he should do; should he interrupt? Should he go for help to the guardsmen, or the Bann?

Only moments have passed when Alistair hears all fall quiet. He listens closely, concerned but unsure, for some indication of what he should do. A final clatter is followed by a rough, grating sound, and Alistair hears someone unlocking the door. He ducks into an alcove in the wall around the corner, likely meant to be used to house a statue, feeling it might be best not to be caught witness just now. The door opens, and hearing footsteps traveling down the hall away from him, Alistair peeks around the corner. He grimaces as his instincts are confirmed by seeing the retreating figure of Bann Declan.

Caught up in his new ire towards the Bann, Alistair nearly misses the soft, small sounds now emerging from the storeroom. He ducks back around the corner, planning to identify the victim in the same manner as the Bann, but a moment later a lady rounds the corner, nearly running into him. She meets his gaze for just a second before looking away, instantly frightened, and steps back in an effort to conceal herself in the shadows. Only a second, but Alistair saw her shock at his presence, the shame and the terror in her eyes. He takes in her disheveled hair, her tear-streaked face, her torn dress, which she is desperately holding around herself.

"You are hurt…can I help you, my lady?" Alistair said, holding out his hand to her. He barely finishes speaking before she turns and hurries past him down the hall.

Alistair is left in the hallway, stunned. He is shocked as he recalls her condition: the bruises on top of bruises, the raw patches on her arms, the fingermarks on her neck. His shock turns to horror and anger as he heads back to his room. He enters and paces furiously, trying to decide what to do while being hindered by his growing anger towards the Bann. He knows what he did, what he does, to this woman. Furious, he manages to realize he is getting nowhere, and in a moment of clarity realizes that if he wants to do something about this, the best person to consult is Zevran. In a decisive movement, he heads out to knock on Zevran's door.


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note: A little shout-out to those who follow, favorite, and reviewed my story thus far- You guys encourage me. It is your fault I wrote most of this story during class today! Please send some good mojo my way...finals coming up quick-fastlike.

I really do want to know what you think could make the story better, so don't hesitate to review! Thanks for giving my little corner of fanfiction a look. It really means a lot to me!

I also want to give a little credit to a few authors whose fanfics inspired some aspects of this story: I have to give credit to Traxits, who wrote 'Shades of Grey', and inadvertently inspired my fanfic to feature Zevran and Alistair, as co-commanders (so to speak) of the Grey Wardens at Solider's Peak. I didn't copy, though, I swear! I think I will save my other sources of inspiration for later in the story, when their contributions are more relevant.

Until next time, probably after finals-

* * *

Chapter 7

"Why Alistair, you know I have been so hoping this day would come, but I had rather hoped that getting you to hop borders would have been a bit less frantic, yes?" Zevran held open his door, slightly bleary-eyed and shirtless, as Alistair stormed in past him.

"All right, you've had your poke at me, I didn't plan to wake you up, you know," Alistair slumped into one of the chairs in Zevran's chambers. "I needed to talk to you. Something happened…I saw something I wasn't supposed to see."

Zevran eased himself into another chair. He was still recovering from his abrupt interruption to his sleep, but the assassin could hide it well enough. "You disappoint me yet again. I would have preferred such a late night visit have another purpose. Alas, I shall remain patiently hopeful," Alistair rolled his eyes, and Zevran leaned forward in his chair with a smile. "All right, I see you are serious. What happened?"

Alistair took a deep breath to steady his anger. "The Bann…he has been forcing himself on one of his wife's ladies." He looked up to observe Zevran's reaction. The assassin was silent and still, his typically lighthearted demeanor had grown cool. Zevran met Alistair's glance and nodded for him to continue.

"I was coming back from the kitchens and I heard some noise coming from a room, and before I could do anything really, the Bann came out. A moment later the lady walked out, and she was hurt and her clothes were torn…" Alistair ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes. "I tried to help her but she ran off." Alistair's anger resurfaced. "I knew something was going on, I knew the Bann was scum, but this… What should I do? What should **we** do?"

Zevran stood up and began pacing, arms crossed. "Only a coward does such things. Such acts should never be forced," he murmured. He quickly turned to address Alistair again, "You are sure, yes? You are sure you are not mistaken, of what was happening?"

Alistair nodded fervently. "You didn't see her, Zevran. She was holding herself together, literally,…She had new bruises on top of old ones, and she had all these scrapes on her arms. It looked like it had been happening for a while."

Zevran nodded, accepting the answer. "And who was she? Which of Clara's ladies did you see?" he asked intently.

"I am not sure of her name, but I recognized her. She had black hair, and she had on a blue dress, I think. She's the one that always wears those high-necked dresses. Is that enough?"

"Katarina Lathurna," Zevran gave a long sigh. "This makes things a bit more complicated, I fear. I had hoped we could contact her family and they would come to retrieve her, but alas…the Blight was hard on many. There is no one for her."

Alistair stood up. "That can't be the only option, can it? I mean, couldn't we contact the Queen? Anora could, I don't know, order that the Bann sent her to Denerim or something."

"I am not sure of Ferelden's laws, but the Bann may have some legal claim on her. She is not so very old, after all. If she was young enough when she lost her family, she may be in Declan's custody until he finds her a suitable husband, which, as we see, he may never do. He chose his victim carefully, Alistair."

Alistair shook his head. "No, no we cannot just _leave_ her here! To abandon her to more abuse from that …_evil_ man! We have to do something!"

Zevran sighed again. On this issue, at least, he shared Alistair's sense of honor and justice. However, Zevran knew there would be consequences to simply pulling the woman out of the keep, consequences unforeseen. The Bann obviously had a great deal of control over his entire holding, which allowed him to act as he pleased. It was not likely that his abuse of Katarina was secret from everyone else, considering the odd behavior of the other ladies. It was more likely that he used Katarina to instill fear into them all, if not others. Men like Bann Declan did not retain such a foul relationship so openly unless he had no belief he would be held accountable, and that meant Declan still had an ace in his hand.

He glanced over at Alistair, who was watching him intently, waiting for counsel. Zevran grimaced before speaking: not a good sign. "My friend, I know you want to help the lady, as do I, but-" Alistair was already shaking his head, but Zevran pressed on. "but we cannot do anything at the moment. All we can do is send word to the Queen and she may choose some action. That is all."

"But when we were in Arl Howe's dungeons and we found those abused prisoners…and when we found the slavers in the Alienage-"

Zevran cut him off. "Alistair, you know this is not the same. Grey Wardens in peacetime will not be allowed the same tolerance as during a Blight. If you kill the Bann, or you take the girl, you will be considered outside the law. And that is not the place for the Warden-Commander to be, yes?"

"How can we do this, Zevran? How can we know this is happening and do nothing? I won't ignore this. It isn't right."

"Do you not think I feel the same? I am disgusted by this man, by his actions. He is dishonorable." Zevran's practical, calm appearance was gone, his own revulsion now evident. "We agree on this, I know. But we cannot simply call him out, as much as I would like to. We do not know his standing with Anora, who his friends are, what power he may have. We do not know what may happen against the Wardens should we act."

Zevran tried to appeal to his friend. "Alistair, you are a hero now, but people only remember heroes for so long. When they are safe again, you will be just another political player. You need to ensure the Wardens are a stable force in Ferelden again, this is your concern. I do not want to leave her here with this _bastardo codardo_, but to directly confront this issue…you do not know what may happen in the future. Do you know how it would look, to the Queen, if you rescued this girl? Possibly the last heir to her father's holdings, a noblewoman? She is still wary of you, of your claim, you know. It may seem to her that you were attempting to gain land, to establish yourself as a member of the nobility, to make a new claim to the throne, should Anora become unfavorable in the Bannorn. " Alistair scoffed at that, but Zevran gave him a sad smile. "Never let it be said that politics makes good sense, my friend."

Alistair slumped back in his chair again, crestfallen. "You couldn't just, you know, assassinate him or something?"

Zevran snorted. "You don't think they would know who it was? Do you want me to get caught, and kept in this twisted man's dungeon? You wound me. I thought we had something, _mio caro_," he smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Alistair shrugged off his friend's antics. He knew Zevran was trying to make him feel better, to take his mind off the matter, and he had to give him credit for trying even though it wasn't working. He played along. "So where does that leave us? Leave in the morning and never look back? Pretend I saw nothing? If that's the plan I am stealing extra pillows and cheese for the road."

"Well, as I said, we can leave quietly and then send word to the Queen, and trust her to take it from there. We will likely never know what occurs after that, but it is probably the best thing to do. It shows you trust her and respect her governance, and that you are concerned for her people, as well as help the girl."

Hanging his head in his hands, Alistair radiated defeat. Zevran knew this was hard for Alistair. He didn't have the political training of Roy Cousland, being raised in a stable, after all, and his unshaken sense of chivalry and honor often blinded him to the repercussions of his actions, as his good heart had with Goldanna. At least, after that, Alistair had learned to open his eyes to the real world a bit more. They were both quiet for a while, until Alistair looked up.

"You're right, you know. It pains me to say it, but you usually are." He leaned back in his chair, suddenly very tired. "Well, we leave tomorrow, and we will be at Soldier's Keep in a week. We can send word then, I suppose."

Zevran sat down again, and a sense of relief came over him that he had been able to get through to his friend. He hadn't stretched the truth: both of them were new to navigating Ferelden's politics and neither of them could really know what would happen if they took aggressive action. He got up feeling drained, and started to return to his bed. Just because he had advocated for a more passive form of action didn't mean he liked it any better than Alistair, however. "This is life, my friend. It is not always pleasurable. Be glad you have a heart at all, and hope that the Queen does as well, and the girl will be alright."

All he got in reply was some kind of confirmatory, dejected grunt from Alistair as the door closed behind him.

* * *

(My Zevran speaks in Italian, because Antiva was supposedly modeled after Venice, and well, I am Italian.)

*bastardo codardo = cowardly bastard

*mio caro = my dear


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! It tempers the guilt I feel for writing this chapter when I should have been finishing papers for finals. I promise I will be working now...after the next chapter goes up. I can't leave you hanging!

Reviews are ridiculously awesome!

* * *

Chapter 8

Over his shoulder, Zevran gave his room a final visual sweep before following the servant out of the chamber, no longer 'his'. He walked down the hall with what must have looked like an indifferent, businesslike expression, but it was only a mask for his weariness. It had been a restless night.

He had not been able to fall back asleep immediately after Alistair left, and had instead nursed a cup of wine for some time while idly gazing at the night sky out his window. Zevran had lost himself in thought, recalling all the things about Antiva that he _didn't_ miss. Those things were everywhere; they were here, at Ulstermont.

He had cursed his now-softer heart, that empathy that had crept in slowly, breaking down some of that carefully built wall of apathy, like a vine of ivy quietly destroys a stone wall. Smirking, he had thought of Leliana, so like him and yet so much his opposite, damn her indestructible positivity. They had both experienced that moment of unalterable clarity and seen themselves for the dangerous, sinister things they truly were. She had been able to pull herself into the light, while Zevran had only been able to let himself fall into the darkness. In the beginning, he would have considered her weak, an easy target, just like the rest of them. Ah, Leliana, Alistair, Roy…It had not been long before he had realized how much stronger their compassion made them for it.

Sipping his wine in the darkness, Zevran had smiled, remembering the way it had been. They had never been able to save everyone, but they had tried. He saw the importance in that, now, because of them. He owed them his life- not just the air in his lungs, but the _purpose_ of living. He knew he owed them everything, but he did not feel a weight of debt as a different Zevran might have. Instead, for the first time, he felt free. Alistair had been surprised that he had wanted to assist him in rebuilding the Wardens, but Zevran had known there was a place for him in it, and like Leliana had, he had moved toward the light.

The previous night's musings behind him, Zevran focused on the very important task at hand- getting out of Ulstermont. After instructing the servant as to the delivery of his things, he met up with Alistair in a corridor to the side of the Bann's audience room. With some reassurance, he noted that Alistair looked just as uncomfortable and impatient as he did.

"We say our goodbyes, and ride like the wind, yes?"

Alistair nodded in response, blowing out a long sigh of tension. "I'd really rather this was all over with already."

"I know what you mean. But think, one last little silly speech, and we are on our way to Soldier's Peak. Quite simple."

Alistair nodded again, several times, a nervous action, and turned to head into the audience chamber. Zevran patted him on the back in an attempt to reassure him before following. The four full Wardens they had brought with them were lingering in the back of the chamber, and filled out the space around Alistair and Zevran as they entered. It was a movement meant to impress, choreographed by Zevran early on during these political visits, once they had made more Wardens, of course. All of them always arrived and left in full arms and armor, and so the movement never failed to draw attention. Zevran always noticed that Alistair stood a little straighter, spoke a little more confidently, each time the entourage moved into place.

The Bann sat as he had when they arrived, now with his wife by his side. He appeared bored but pleased, and while she was obviously sad to see her visitors depart, she glowed from the experience.

"Bann Declan of Ulstermont," Alistair gave a short, stiff bow, before continuing to recite, "it grieves me to say the Grey Wardens have completed our task, and we must take our leave. We thank you for your hospitality and assistance, and your support for the Wardens shall not be overlooked."

Customarily, the residing lord or lady would say something equally friendly and political at this point, but the Bann just nodded, a small grin appearing on his face. Alistair raised an eyebrow, but then moved into the next part of their farewells.

"The Grey Wardens had two purposes to our stay, to collect a history of the Blight from Ulstermont, and to seek out any who might be suited to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens. The first task, with your gracious assistance, was accomplished, and will not only be collected into the histories at Soldier's Peak, but sent to the Queen's historians at Denerim."

Alistair took a moment for a subtle deep breath, the movement of his chest concealed by his armor. "The second task has also been accomplished, with assistance from those residing on your holding. I will now announce to you that Tomag Cowan, an unmarried lad from the village, has volunteered and been found worthy to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens."

Zevran looked up at the Bann. Sometimes, not often, a lord or lady would object at this stage, usually because their captain-at-arms or some important person's son or daughter had volunteered and could not be handed over. The Bann simply nodded again, saying nothing. Alistair did not just take anyone, either. Every volunteer had to undergo a rigorous test of strength and talent, to demonstrate they had something to offer the Wardens. At least, that is what Alistair told them. In reality, he was trying to determine who would survive the Joining, and after that, survive standing in a mess of darkspawn without losing their wits.

The Bann had said nothing, so the worst was over. Zevran shifted his stance slightly, now anxious to hurry up the formalities and leave. There were two more announcements, but Alistair always passed over both.

"The Grey Wardens have a right to ask for those they deem worthy to join our ranks. I will now announce to you that I ask Katarina Lathurna to join the Grey Wardens."

Zevran's eyes widened and it was all he could do not to glare at Alistair. He bit his tongue, instead throwing a glance at the girl, sitting among the other ladies at the side of the room. She looked shocked, and afraid, and kept her eyes trained on the floor as the other ladies began whispering to one another all around her.

The Bann cocked his head to one side and his smile grew. "What would you want with her, Commander? She is but a frail, delicate creature, a ward of mine after her father perished in the Blight." He chuckled, gesturing to her, "How could she possibly fight _darkspawn_? It is laughable!"

Alistair's returning smile was cold, his reply calm. "As the Commander of the Grey, I know what is required in a Warden. I would not ask her to join if I did not think her worthy, and my request was directed at her." He turned to the girl, addressing her instead. "Would you care to join the Grey Wardens, my lady?"

She glanced up, but only for a moment. Quietly, she stood. "Commander, Ser, I…" her eyes flickered to the Bann before she continued, "I cannot accept your offer. I fear I would disappoint the order, should I join the Grey Wardens. Forgive me, Ser."

Smug, the Bann leaned back in his chair. "I am sorry Commander. Ulstermont will only be able to spare one contribution to the Wardens this day."

Zevran caught Alistair's condescending smirk out of the corner of his eye, and mentally groaned. Here it comes…

"I invoke the Right of Conscription."

…and there it is.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Zevran kicked himself for not thinking of it last night, half because it was a spectacular idea and half because he had not been able to remind Alistair that no matter which way they took the girl with them, the consequences remained, no matter if they were within their rights or not. For now, he braced himself, and rightfully so. The Bann did not take it well.

He lost all hold on his composure, jumping out of his chair, furious. "She will not be leaving with you, or anyone!" All eyes were on him as he stalked towards her, now shouting. "Did you ask them to take you?!"

He bent down to hiss in her ear, but the room was so quiet all could hear is admonishments. "How _dare_ you, you little wench. After all I have done for you." She looked stoically downward as he reprimanded her.

Alistair tensed; Declan was inches from her face, but not touching her. The moment he laid a finger on her, however… he would be ready to throw him across the room, Bann or no.

Getting no real reaction from his ward, the Bann turned instead to Alistair. "Think you can just take what you want, hmm? Just rob a man of his jewels?" he smirked. "I know what you are doing. Make her a Warden, bah!" He got very close to Alistair, causing him to shift in warning, but the Bann only wanted to murmur something under his breath, "You are wasting your time with her, you know…beautiful, yes, but no skill for it, if you understand me."

Alistair narrowed his eyes, and managed a polite ghost of a grin and a nod of his head. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Bann Declan. It has been a true pleasure, but we have far to go. We will be getting underway before we waste more sunlight." A terse bow, and Alistair turned his back to the stewing Bann.

Alistair paused only long enough to throw Zevran a loaded glance, his eyes flickering from the assassin to the stunned girl before exiting the room. The four Wardens expertly fell in line behind him. Zevran understood what the look meant: it was apologetic, angry, determined. Zevran also knew it meant he was to make sure the girl got out of there in one piece.

The room was quickly clearing out, the Bann storming out, the others off to avoid his wrath or find windows from which to watch the heroes depart. The girl hadn't moved, and when Zevran approached her, she started as if she had been deep in thought.

"My lady, may I accompany you to your rooms, to assist you in preparing for the journey?" Zevran smiled. It was a different form of his usual charm- gentler, honest, and none of his trademark flirting.

She nodded and turned for her rooms. Zevran followed, observing her. She hadn't quite realized yet that she was leaving, he thought. She walked stiffly, the gait of someone sore and bruised. And she had been favored above the others, as he had thought: her hair was adorned with rich jewels, her dress the finest silks. The Bann had obviously felt the need to show off his pet.

Reaching her room, Zevran positioned himself across the hall from her door, leaning casually against the wall. "I will just wait here for you to pack, my lady. I would be no use to you for that." He conspicuously put a hand on one of his long, wicked daggers, and gave her another smile. "It would not do for a lady to be interrupted when we have to be on our way so soon, no?"

Nodding quickly in response, she shut the door behind her, just in time to miss the Bann walking down the hallway. Zevran smiled like the dangerous thing he was. Just before the Bann opened his mouth to bluster more, he slowly drew one of his daggers, casually flipping it end over end in one hand. He almost laughed when the Bann turned around and walked out of the hallway.

It wasn't long before Katarina exited, dressed to ride and with only two small packs. Zevran thought she looked much more herself, now that she was free of so many jewels and frippery. She had her long, dark hair braided down her back, and had on brown riding leathers and boots, with a soft green shirt under a leather bodice. He smiled warmly, taking her bags from her, and guided her down the hall with a light touch on her elbow.

"It seems we begin our adventure, yes?"


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Four Wardens followed their Commander out of the keep and into the courtyard. Alistair was full of purpose as he walks out into the fray of recruits, servants, and horses. Despite being confident that Zevran would ensure the lady's safety, the Bann had proved to be an unpredictable, explosive sort of person, and not someone Alistair cared to provoke for too long. Securing a stablehand's attention, Alistair set about accelerating their departure.

"Are all the horses prepared for my company? And all the baggage ready?" Receiving an affirmative on both counts relaxed Alistair somewhat. "The lady Katarina Lathurna- does she keep her own horse? Please prepare it for travel. She leaves with the party."

With a short bow, the stablehand was off and quickly lost in the crowd. Alistair made for his own mount and was intercepted by a few of the new recruits. As he answered their questions, he glanced impatiently at the entrance to the keep.

* * *

Walking out into the courtyard of the keep, Katarina did not know she felt. Numb, perhaps, was closest, but also afraid, and something like relieved, but that was such a small piece. How could she be relieved when the unknown could be so much worse? At least she knew what a life at Ulstermont would be for her. She had meant it when she had told the Warden-Commander that she did not desire to join his ranks. In many ways, Ulstermont was… safe.

The world around Katarina was a blur as Zevran lead her out into the chaos of horses and people, finding her already-prepared mount, and securing her bags. She followed his instructions as he gave them without comment or emotion. Everything felt so distant, so unimportant.

The elf left her, somewhat reluctantly, and she sat atop her horse, running the leather reins through her hands nervously. Her thoughts changed rapidly as she waited for the group to be on their way. A glance to the keep made her wonder if the Bann would appear in a rage, and come after her. She would have returned to him immediately, if he did. Even if she didn't want to, following his commands had become instinct.

Her eyes flickered to the elf that had assisted her, protected her, more like. He was currently seeing to his horse across the yard as the Commander spoke to him. She was not so dense to not recognize protection when she saw it, but what was the purpose? He was clearly the Warden-Commander's second, and was respected and powerful, especially for an elf. Was he protecting her from the Bann, keeping her for the Commander, or for himself?

The reins were abandoned in favor of idle play of the horse's mane, and Katarina reluctantly allowed her thoughts to turn to the Commander himself. She had largely ignored him and all the other visitors during their stay, as was expected of her. Now that she found herself in his company, under his command, she wished she had a better notion of his character. As she meticulously sorted horsehair by shade of blonde, Katarina peered at her new master out of the corner of her eye.

She was distracted by the arrival of Zevran on horseback. "You are prepared to leave? I expect we will be getting underway soon." Katarina simply nodded, not meeting his gaze.

"We will set a quick pace to begin with, I expect, so as to make a showy exit," said Zevran with a grin. "After we have gained some distance, we will stop for a short rest. We are fortunate, my lady, to not be riding in so much armor as some of our Wardens and recruits- so uncomfortable! They insist on this rest to remove it. After that, it is about a week's journey to Soldier's Peak. Simple, yes?"

Zevran's attempt at idle banter yielded no response from Katarina. She kept her gaze lowered and narrow, and a tight grip on her reins. Zevran could practically smell her fear, she was so overwhelmed by it. He could understand something of it; although it was a distant memory he could still remember the day he was bought by the Crows. It was quite jarring to be pulled from a life, even a terrible one, and tossed blindly into another.

He was just about to offer her some small encouragement or kindness when a voice shouting for everyone to mount up drew the attention of them both. All across the yard, recruits popped up astride horses, and servants scurried back inside the keep while stablehands lead horses to the mouth of the portcullis.

Katarina felt anticipation rising and her stomach turning as the party gathered to leave Ulstermont. Zevran moved to the front of the group. As he rode past her, he gave her a reassuring smile and gentle pat on her arm. She looked up at him then, eyes wide and dread written across her face.

"Fear not, my lady!" called Zevran over the din of the yard. "You ride with Wardens, heroes of the Blight. You could not be safer!" His words did little to comfort her.

Katarina watched the elf as he trotted up to the front of the line, where he joined the Commander. As they spoke, she allowed herself to study the Commander, the one in the group she feared most. He controlled her future, her life, after all. The rising sun broke over the mountain peaks and shone through the gateway, framing him in warm hues, and his armor seemed to take on a golden glow in the morning light. He truly looked like a hero of legend, as the Maker smiled upon him. Katarina shook away that thought before it could take root. He looked out into the crowd before turning and leading the group out of the keep. Glancing back at Ulstermont before hesitantly following the others, Katarina felt that perhaps, in that one bright moment, she was saved.


	12. Chapter 11

Author's Note: This chapter got pulled out into three, forgive me. Don't be shy about letting me know about errors, advice, etc.!

* * *

Chapter 11

Dismounting, Katarina winced when her feet hit the ground. The road had not been kind. She was unused to riding at all, let alone for an entire day. It was nearly dusk before the Commander had decided to stop for the evening's rest. She tried to stretch as discretely as possible, taking small comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only one in pain. She was probably better off than some of the new recruits, some of which looked like they had never ridden before or had been forced to ride two to a mount. She grimaced in sympathy as one recruit, a tall, bony young man, dismounted and promptly laid flat on the ground, groaning.

Around her, the group dismantled into a loud fury of activity as camp was set up for the night. Unsure where to go or what to do, Katarina rubbed the neck of her horse and let her eyes wander. The party had only halted a handful of minutes ago, but already a few tents had sprung up, and a large man was sending small groups to accomplish tasks; now, three broke off and headed into the forest with bows, another four went another way with leather straps for carrying wood.

Katarina was so caught up in watching the activity that she didn't notice the elf's presence beside her until he spoke.

"I cannot say how thankful I am that soon, we will all be in beds at Soldier's Peak again. One gets used to comfort quickly, yes?" he chuckled when his appearance made her jump. "Ah, I must remember to make more noise next time. I have a habit of being too quiet. I have been asked to bring you to the Commander. He wishes to speak with you. Will you come, my lady?" Zevran offered her his arm, and after a silent hesitation, she took it and walked with him.

One of the tents already up was also the largest, clearly for the Commander. They headed towards it and Katarina felt the feeling of dread from the morning resurface. The elf was smiling and attempting light, welcoming conversation, but she could only nod an answer here or there, too afraid and nervous to say anything.

Zevran pulled back the drape over the entrance to the tent and walked Katarina inside. There was a small table in the middle, where the Commander bent over a map with two others. Another man, this one in robes instead of riding leathers, stood off to the side, consulting a book. Their entrance set off a domino effect of drawing attention, and within a second everyone had turned their eyes toward them. Katarina lowered her head and Zevran felt her take a deep, unsteady breath.

Alistair quietly asked his two Wardens to continue planning the route to Soldier's Peak before turning to address Katarina. He could see that she was uncomfortable and anxious, which was understandable. As soon as they had gotten underway that morning, Alistair had wanted to seek her out and explain his actions at Ulstermont, but Zevran had told him to wait until they had some semblance of privacy. Of course, he was right, and now that the adrenaline from the morning had worn off, Alistair found himself somewhat nervous as well. It was a delicate situation, and he wasn't that great at being delicate. He was pretty sure humor wasn't going to help, though, so that was something.

"You asked to see the Lady Katarina, and I have found her for you."

Alistair sent Zevran a grateful look for starting them off. "Yes, thank you, Zevran. My Lady, welcome to our little company," he tried to give her a welcoming smile, but those only work if the person you're smiling at is looking at you.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander. Thank you for your hospitality." Katarina knew she didn't mean a word of it.

"Please, call me Alistair. Enough people call me 'Commander' already than I'd like. I trust Zevran has been taking proper care of you?" A nod in response. "Anything you need, feel free to ask either of us, although Zevran can probably help you better than I can."

A moment of tense silence, and Alistair sees that her anxiety has not at all lessened. He turns to address those behind him in the tent. "Can I have the room, please, Sers?"

After the men leave, she raises her head slightly to finally glance up at him. _'She is scared down to her bones! Of us. Of me!_ _She must have no idea what is happening to her.'_

"I will be straightforward with you, my Lady. As you know, I Conscripted you into service of the Grey Wardens, but I have no intention of making you one. I hope that answers some of your questions; the rest please ask and I will answer."

It was as she expected. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked quietly.

Alistair shrugged and let out a sigh. "That really depends on you, my Lady." At her questioning look, he continued. "I've been told your family has a holding near the Brecilian Forest. If you would like to return there, I will assign an escort to take you there safely."

Katarina shook her head.

"Is there anywhere else you would rather go, instead? I am more than willing to accommodate you."

"I have nowhere to go, Ser."

Alistair frowned a little at her statement, bare and dejected as it was. "You are more than welcome to accompany us to Soldier's Peak, and stay as long as you like," he said, gently. "I know it isn't a place for a noble lady, but we would do our best to accommodate you."

"What would I do there?"

A question he hadn't been expecting. He faltered for a moment and looked to Zevran. "Whatever you desire, my Lady. Not all who dwell at Soldier's Peak are Wardens, after all. You would have your privacy and freedoms same as all others."

Again, she was quiet a moment before responding. "I will go with you."

"We are happy to have you," said Alistair with a smile, now the second she had missed. He continued, walking to the other side of the tent and opening the flap as he spoke. "There are a few other matters I would like to take care of now. First, I am sure you are tired from today's journey, but while on the road our healer, Horace, asked me if he could offer you his services, since you are probably unused to riding for so long…Ace? You out there? Oh, and Whil…where's Whil?"

The robed man reentered the tent to address Katarina. "My Lady, a pleasure to meet you-" his greeting was interrupted by Alistair's increasing volume (Whil?! Blast it…Someone- you, there, find Whil and get him over here, there's a good man).

The man smiled gently, to hide his amusement and exasperation at their Commander. "My name is Horace, and I am a new Warden recruit from the Circle of Magi. I specialize in healing, and I noticed that you seemed uncomfortable on the road. I have asked the Commander to offer you my services."

Of course, Ace did not mention that Zevran and the Commander had had a long talk with him earlier in the day, describing the real reason for Katarina's Conscription. He was concerned enough with that type of harm, but doubly so when Alistair had reluctantly informed him of the incident he had witnessed. They had insisted that Ace fully examine her, which he intended to do, but he had insisted on a mild level of subterfuge. She was not likely, he explained, to be particularly trusting of anyone at this point, let alone a male stranger who wanted to scrutinize her body for signs of injury. And no, Commander, I can't just hit her with a healing spell, because if there is any internal damage- a broken bone, a fracture, organ damage- he would have to set it (or Maker forbid re-break it), or use a more concentrated form of healing…no, he would have to examine her.

And he had been right. Upon hearing the introduction, she seemed to fold into herself just a little more, if that was possible, holding her arms around herself. She said nothing and just looked down at her boots.

A look exchanged between Zevran and Ace prompted the elf to speak. "My Lady, the Wardens, as you know, take on only the best. Ace is quite professional, or the templars would have gotten to him before we did, no?"

Ace put on his best disarming smile.

Katarina looked more resigned than anything when she nodded, reluctantly stepping forward to follow the mage when the previously mentioned Whil slipped into the tent. Alistair brought him forward to join the little, tense group.

"My Lady, this is Whil, our first post-Blight Warden and my captain. I've asked him to attend to any needs you might have during our travels." Alistair clapped him on the back amicably, and Whil stepped forward, offering her his hand and a smile.

She shook his hand, eyes wide as eggs. Whil was huge, a bear of a man, even in traveling leathers. Alistair and Zevran exchanged a glance as they belatedly realized that perhaps assigning the largest man in camp to assist the young lady may not appear to her as the protection that it was intended. Whether or not Whil noticed her trepidation, he didn't let on- just kept smiling his crooked smile.

"Pleased to meet you, my Lady. When'ver Ace here and you are through, find me and I'll be happy to get you some supper." He had a rich voice, deep, that matched his appearance, but a cheerfulness that didn't. He straightened up from shaking Katarina's hand (he had to lean over to do so), and with a grin to everyone, headed out of the tent, calling that he would be tending to the young lady's horse.

"Well, that's Whil…he's really tame, despite how he looks…So! Everything is settled then." Alistair's nerves didn't show at all, he was sure. A pillar of confidence, he was. "If you need anything, come to Whil, or Zevran, or me, and we will do our best to help you out."

A polite, slightly choked 'Yes, Commander, thank you,' and she and Ace were on their way to the healer's tent. Alistair groaned and threw his hands over his face.

"This is a disaster. We- _I_- pulled her from one cooking pot and threw her into another. Did you see how she looked at us? I give it an hour before she starts screaming and runs for the nearest Chantry."

Zevran offered a half-hearted shrug in response before settling into a chair. "You and I know that she is safe, she will too, with time. She did not refuse to come with us, after all. And she is out from under the control of that _maledetto stronzo_, which is most important." Zevran gave Alistair a wry smile. "You are just unused to anyone who does not instantly adore your special brand of charm, _amico_."

"That isn't so. Plenty of people don't like me. I am just not used to anyone being _afraid_ of me."

"She is a bird with broken wings, Alistair. She will fear everything until she remembers how to fly again."

* * *

_maledetto stronzo_ = damned asshole


	13. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Many thanks to all my readers/reviewers! A special thank you to SnowHelm, my main source of encouragement to neglect my homework and work on this instead. You rock!

I started this as a method to improve my writing and give myself an outlet for the monotony of research, so any critiques are welcome!

* * *

Chapter 12

The healing wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. The mage was actually quite gentle, and since he didn't indicate that he knew anything about her relationship with the Bann, they could both pretend that all her bruises and scrapes were from riding and stumbling around in new boots (she couldn't believe herself when she said that, and more, that he accepted it without comment).

It wasn't long before he was finished healing her (the spell had felt strange, inside, and she watched fascinated as wounds disappeared) and was leading her out of the tent into camp, which seemed peaceful in comparison to the chaos earlier.

Ace politely handed her off to the supervision of Whil. Katarina felt her anxiety return as he stood up to greet her again, and lead her over to her horse to show her what he had done. As he talked she calmed some, partially because she was focusing on remembering his instructions regarding the particulars of camp and partially because he had a buoyancy in his attitude and speech that couldn't help but make you feel uplifted. As she learned where things were, who did what, she found herself relaxing. Identifying the feeling only made her throw her guard up again, and wonder why of all people, this giant of a man was the one she felt she could trust. Only a little.

She didn't speak much, but she didn't need to. Whil had plenty to tell her as he set up a tent for her, perfectly near enough to his but far enough away. Katarina sat on a log and observed the camp and listened to his steady banter. Occasionally, recruits would approach them, give her an awkward nod or ignore her completely, and ask Whil a question.

"Yes, go and wash up if you like. Take a few others with you, and see if you can't get that new boy from West Hill to go with you, I could smell 'im up the line today. If you don't take 'im I will have to dunk 'im m'self and he won't like it, I promise you that."

Whil was an odd fellow, Katarina decided. Apart from his size, even. He had the look of a farmer or blacksmith about him, as if he had labored his whole life, and he was older than most of the others, including the Commander. It struck her as curious that he would join up with the Wardens and follow such an inexperienced person (surely the Commander was too young to know very much about leading a military organization). His way of talking had an inconsistent quality, as if he was choosing whether or not to use his accent. Surely a commoner, although she suspected most of the recruits probably were. It didn't bother her. In fact, there was less of a chance someone would recognize her, in this company. The thought of _that_ occurring horrified her, and she pushed it from her mind with a shiver.

That night and the following day's journey are mostly uneventful. Katarina learned that sleeping on a bedroll on the ground is not particularly restful when you aren't used to it, and that she is grateful for the thorough healing she received when she has to mount up for another long ride. Whil sticks close by her, and is somewhat bolder in the daylight, asking her little questions. Sometimes she gives a short answer, sometimes not, but Whil is reminded of whole stories from his youth to tell her with only a shake of her head.

"Never been up in the mountains?! Well, once a friend told me that the snow glistening off the peaks were fairies, just bunches of them waiting to be caught, with magic in them, so of course we had to head up there-" (many minutes later, Katarina finds out that the mountains are extremely cold when accidentally buries themselves up to their neck in a snowdrift).

Despite Whil's numerous monologues, Katarina finds the day passes quickly. She is actually a little surprised when Zevran rides down the line to signal that they make camp for the night.

The line of riders dissolves into a mess of horses and people, and the dull murmur of conversation on horseback seamlessly translates into a din of calls and shouts. Whil motions for Katarina to lead her horse behind him, and he leads several of the large animals to a creek to drink. As they watch the horses drink, Whil observes the girl, not for the first time. He feels she might be more adept at sinking into the shadows than some rogues; she seems to be able to use nearly anything to obscure her face, certainly. At the moment, the hair around her face is loose from her braid, obscuring Whil's view of her as she strokes the neck of her horse, leaning against him as he drinks.

She is neither tall nor short for a lady, but he suspects she looks younger than she actually is. A sort of weariness causes her to fold in on herself, to make herself as small as possible. From the here and there glimpses he's been able to take, he knows she isn't homely, but can't determine much more than that. He does know his daughter would've been completely taken by Katarina's hair. The long, thick, black mane would have kept the little one occupied for hours with clips and pins.

Whil smiled at the thought, then quickly frowned at the memory. He bent his head and scuttled a pebble around the ground with his boot, the faded sadness and anger still enough to distract him. When he had put the memory aside, he looked up to find Katarina peering at him out of the corner of her eye, questioning. Figuring she was wondering when they would head back, Whil grabbed the reins of the horses near him.

"They've had enough, I'd think. Time for us get 'em ready for the night and fetch some supper for ourselves." A flick of his head and a grin, and Whil leads horses and lady back to camp.

Katarina reached out for the reins of a second and third horse, and wondered what would make such a lively man so sad.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The next day, they will arrive at Soldier's Peak. Katarina feels a nervous tingle wash over her, an anxiousness she hasn't felt since the company's first night out from Ulstermont. She is less afraid than she was then, but the unknown still worries her. She pushes the intrusive thoughts out of her mind, and focuses on the task at hand.

Sighting her prey, Katarina crouches and unsheathes a small, sharp knife. Placing her basket on the forest floor, she gently severs a stem from an elfroot plant, one of many huddled around an oak tree. She picks leaves from the plants here and there, not wanting to completely strip each one. This find has topped off her load, and she is pleased with what she has found. In addition to elfroot, edible mushrooms, berries, roots, and nuts fill her basket, all safely partitioned from the branch of oily deathroot she happened upon. Hoisting her heavy basket, Katarina started on her way, eager to reach camp before dusk turned into night.

As she moved through the forest, Katarina thought of the pleasant turn of events in the last few days. She had quickly found that she was comfortable around Whil, to some extent, and therefore felt safest when near him. But his duties at camp put her in a quandary: stay alone in her tent for hours as he directed the others, or follow him and mix with the recruits? Boredom eventually won over, and she opted to tag along when he mingled with the others. The first night she opted to stick to his side had proven fortuitous, and she grinned at the memory.

_Whil was talking to another Warden about something or another, so Katarina settled herself nearby, on a log near the cooking fire. One of the recruits sent out to hunt and gather for the evening meal had come back with an armful of large mushrooms. As he was slicing them up to cook, Katarina noticed a few of his mushrooms were a strange grey color._

_"You shouldn't use those," she pointed._

_"Eh? Whyever not? Look, I've got these onions here, they'll be tasty cooked up beside 'em…"_

_"No, you shouldn't use these ones, the grey ones. You can't eat them."_

_Alarmed, the recruit sat back from the mushrooms. "They's poison?! Oh, I will have killed everyone!"_

_"No, they aren't deadly-"_

_"Well, are they poison or not?" The recruit was growing a bit frustrated. "There's lots to feed and I don't know who you are to be messin' around when there's work to be done."_

_"They aren't deadly, but anyone who eats them will be…sick, for a day or so."_

_"Whatya mean, sick? You can't catch a cold from a mushroom!" The recruit waved the mushroom in question._

_"She means you'll have the runs, idiot," another recruit chimed in. "Throw those away and leave the girl alone. She's trying to help and you're being a jacka- ahem, excuse me, my lady…you're being a fool."_

_Katarina allowed herself a small grin, just before Whil, who had overheard a bit of their exchange, burst out into a hearty guffaw. Whil plunked himself down next to her, laughing, as the mushroom-slicer blushed and muttered under his breath while other recruits chuckled. After Whil got ahold of himself, he asked her where she had learned about herbalism, and how much she knew. After a few questions, he excused himself and returned a few minutes later with Horace in tow._

_As it turned out, Horace was in need of someone with herbal lore to collect potion ingredients. He was too busy to ever do a thorough search of the areas around camp, and his supplies were diminishing. Katarina felt an unexpected thrill when Horace asked her to aid him by searching out the various components (And anything to add to supper for the others, if you should come across it)._

Since then, Katarina had headed out into the forest soon after they stopped to make camp, armed with her large basket and small pruning knife, both supplied by Horace. Whil had come with her the first night, but she had sent him off shortly after they set out, since he was obviously distracted with concern that the recruits were running wild without his supervision. She never ventured too far, and enjoyed the time alone in the trees and meadows.

Upon reaching camp, Katarina made for Horace's tent to hand over tonight's find. As he had every night, Horace praised her for her haul and thanked her profusely for her help.

"I really don't know how I managed without you. Some of the others would bring back this or that, but only a little and usually only because they thought elfroot was rosemary or some such nonsense." Horace's rant earned a small smile from Katarina. "And really, I know we haven't seen any action recently, but you can't imagine the work I do, for people _and _horses, and not everything can be fixed with magic, much to everyone's surprise. I am sure I will be in even higher demand when we get back to Soldier's Peak tomorrow."

Horace sighed as he sorted and packaged herbs with Katarina's assistance. "There are only two other mages there, and I the only healer. That's why I had to come on this journey before my Joining; I was so desperately needed in case something happened. So, I've been thinking…" Horace's pause caused Katarina to look up from her work.

"In the keep, the other mages and I have a room set aside for us, a stillroom, for making potions and such, and the others occasionally ask for poisons and grenades. We store as much as we can, but I can tell it won't be enough to supply the whole of the Wardens. The mountain cold doesn't allow much to grow, most of the year. I have a plan to make a sort of indoor garden, magically heated, where we could grow what we need and have it year-round."

Horace pointed to Katarina with his shears. "That's where you come in. I've heard that you are planning on staying at Soldier's Peak." He waited for a nod from Katarina before continuing. "You're quite knowledgeable and talented in herbalism, and it would be an asset to us if you'd help manage the stillroom and the garden." He looked up, hopeful. "What do you say?"

To have a purpose felt wonderful, and Katarina smiled. "Of course, Ser Horace, I would be honored."

Horace grinned, happy with their arrangement and set back to work. "You call me 'Ser' one more time, and I'll make sure a very itchy something makes its way into your bedroll."

* * *

Whil stretched widely, holding back a massive yawn. He squinted in the dawn's light before hefting his greataxe over one shoulder, rubbing one eye with a fist. The camp was quiet, most still asleep, but Whil had already broken down his tent and prepared his belongings for travel. Whil liked to wake early; it made him feel like he was ahead, like he wasn't going to miss a moment. It was a remnant of his first life, a time when things were so different.

As he had every morning since that time, Whil took advantage of the quiet solitude to remember his past. Finding his horse's tack, he pulled a wooden frame out of a saddlebag. Turning it in his hands, his fingers running over the familiar grooves in the wood, he smiled sadly as he gazed at the drawing held within.

Movement in his periphery captured his attention, and Whil swung his head like a child caught stealing sweets. He wasn't used to having this moment in his day interrupted. He felt his initial surge of frustration decline when he saw that his intruder was Katarina, now petting her horse some distance away, but staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Whil gave a sigh at his silliness, and reluctantly stowed his treasure.

"You didn't do a thing, my lady, just caught me thinking to m'self, is all." He scratched behind his head, reluctant to tell her more.

"I could leave you to it, Ser… I could just take the horses for a drink…"

Whil shook his head. "No never mind that, my lady, I am fine,…besides, camp is up and about now and there's the road to get to."

Katarina nodded, giving Whil a brief smile in that odd way of hers, without really looking at a person. She walked about the horses anyway, gathering reins of half a dozen and leading them toward the nearby stream, knowing they would want a morning drink.

The large man watched her go, and then gave a sigh with a wistful look at his saddlebags. Camp was all but breaking down now, with people all about grabbing breakfast and dismantling tents. Whil picked up his bags and axe, heading toward his horse to saddle up.

* * *

Katarina peered at her companion out of the corner of her eye. _'He is unusually quiet today. I wonder if it has something to do with what happened this morning.'_ She looked back down at the pommel and the reins in her hands.

She found she didn't like that Whil was so quiet. She had gotten accustomed to his stories and their one-sided conversations- he was so very entertaining when he told stories. More than that, she had to admit she was a bit concerned about him. They rode at the back of the group, as was typical, but Katarina couldn't help but think that his lack of attention to the road would have put him there regardless of orders from the Commander. It was nearly midday, and Katarina's worries had grown with each passing hour of silence. She could not remain silent herself any longer, and hesitantly addressed the Warden.

"Ser Whil … are you not well?"

Whil looked up at her abruptly, as though pulled from deep thought. "Hm? Oh, no my lady, I am fine."

Katarina fidgeted with her reins. "Ser… I am sorry about what happened earlier. I know I disturbed you and I did not mean to interrupt your morning custom-"

Whil held up his hand to cut her off. "My lady, you did nothing wrong. I'm just bein' a silly old man, is all."

He did some fidgeting himself before continuing. _She might as well know, and she's an understanding sort. Doesn't have anyone of her own anyway, from what the Commander says._ He pulled the frame from his saddlebag, thumbing the border.

"I lost my family in the Blight; common enough story, I s'pose. Every morning, I like to look at this, just for a few minutes while I am by m'self." He handed the frame to Katarina.

It was a drawing of three people, one of whom was Whil, his crooked smile copied to perfection. The smile even seemed to reach his eyes, making them gleam in that mischievous way they did in reality. The other two figures where a woman and a female child, both beautiful, both smiling. Katarina realized she was looking at a family portrait. She looked back at Whil, who was watching her study the drawing.

"Your family is beautiful, Ser. And the drawing… it is your likeness exactly." She handed it back to him with a smile. "I am so sorry for your loss, Ser."

Whil grinned back at her, sadness in his eyes. "Ah, thank you, my lady. This is my greatest treasure, now they are gone. We were from Lothering- I was a carpenter, there. Lumberjack too, as I had to get my own wood for orders. When reports of darkspawn came in, a number of us fool men thought to try to defend the town. Thought we were doing a job of it, too, until we heard them comin' in behind. By the time I got back to my house, my two girls were dead."

Studying the drawing again, Whil smiled brightly, much to Katarina's surprise. "My little girl drew this. She was so talented. Just brought it to me at the end of one day, and oh, I was ever so proud. Carved the frame m'self, put it up on the mantle. She called it 'our noble family portrait'. She was a quiet, tame thing, like her mother.

If she were here now, she would have adored you, my lady." Katarina looked up at Whil, questioning. "Oh yes, she would've wanted to hear if you'd met the King, or a prince, and what you'd wear to dances. She'd ask to be allowed to fix up your hair…my little one would spend hours playin' with that mane of yours, if you'd let her. She'd open up to you, because you're kind and gentle, not the type to give yourself airs and whatnot."

Katarina smiled. Whil always did focus on the positive, whenever possible. She could hear the love for his daughter in his voice as he spoke of her, the memories being more important than the fact that she was gone.

"I think I would have liked her, too. But I fear I wouldn't be able to impress her with stories of court- I never had an audience with any kings or princes."

Whil grinned at her again, happier, this time, and turned to tuck away the frame. "Ha! She would've pouted some and switched to askin' for fairy tales. Aye, she was my sweetheart. Always will be. I fought through the whole Blight, with whoever would take me on, just tryin' to protect who I could. When we got the news it was over, and that Ferelden had a new Warden-Commander, I came up north straightaway. Knew I was a bit old to be joining up, but I've always been pretty good with my axe, and well…now I have purpose again."

They shared a smile, and then Whil leaned over in his saddle some, and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial way. "When I first met the Commander, I realized I'd seen him in Lothering, once. By the Maker, he was such a boy then," Whil chuckles, recalling the memory.

"I remember thinkin' to m'self, 'that one won't last long, for all his armor and sword, if he don' stop lookin' at his boots!" Whil gave a great guffaw, slapping his leg, and several riders ahead of them turned their heads at the source of the loud noise.

"Ah, well, he has certainly come along, didn' he? I wouldn' have followed him to the bar for a drink, before, but now I'll gladly give him everything I've got. Good man; honorable sort, and just. Not afraid to get his hands dirty- work alongside his lessers. That's what makes up a leader worth following."

Katarina had listened attentively to all of Whil's tale, but his talk of the Warden-Commander made her unsettled. She was happy that Whil was no longer in poor spirits, and glad he had been able to find a home in the Wardens after the loss of his family, but she could not appreciate Whil's description of the Commander.

Somehow, she had marked the Commander as duplicitous, hiding his true nature until the proper moment arrived, when he could take whatever he desired from his compatriots- specifically, her. She knew she had no evidence to the contrary, yet what kind of man chooses to draft an unskilled, orphaned lady of noble blood into his company? He said had no intention of her becoming a Warden, but then what was his intention? Horace's offer of a position with him was moot; while she was glad to have a role to play, any number of commoners or others in the Warden's employ could help garden and organize a stillroom.

Nothing fit; it just didn't seem to make sense. Katarina refused to believe that the Commander had taken her away from Ulstermont simply to free her from the Bann; it only made more sense that he would take her because she was some kind of useful tool, in some way. Was it her noble blood? Perhaps he wanted to use her to form an alliance, force her to marry someone. Or use the Bann's anger over losing her to gain something from him. Was that he assumed she knew Ferelden politics, had contacts? Or, fear of fears, had he taken her thinking she would ornament his keep nicely, perhaps thinking to pick up the Bann's former role in her life. From what she had seen and heard, there were far fewer female Wardens than males.

Whil now whistled a cheery tune, sitting tall on his horse, a complete reversal of his behavior even a half an hour before. Katarina tried to push these harrowing thoughts from her mind, giving Whil a smile and focusing on the landscape instead. These thoughts about the Commander and her place had cropped up frequently over the course of their journey, but she had tried hard to ignore them. Instead, she tried to live in the moment, listen to Whil's stories, and enjoy the journey for the little adventure it was. She had been quite successful, but the promise of arriving at Soldier's Peak this very day had riddled her shield with holes.


	15. Chapter 14

Author's note: I beg your forgiveness for the long wait between postings. Work + comps = no time. Additionally, I've been trying to secure a beta (hopefully the one I snagged will have enough time to stay on!), so I was holding out on posting this chapter, hoping to get it beta-d first. Sadly it isn't, so let me know if you find any errors!

Criticism is love!

* * *

Chapter 14

9:31 Firstfall

_The notebook is hard-bound brown leather, with the crest of House Lathurna embossed on the front. The pages are delicate, bleached parchment, and although small in dimension the notebook is thick. It is already filled to a third of its capacity._

Finding this old journal today reminded me how much I used to treasure it, and how comforting it was to gather my thoughts at the end of a day. It reminds me of Father- a bittersweet feeling. I think of him and Mathis and Arman often, Maker watch over them. I thought it would hurt to look back and read about my family, but it was soothing to know I have these pages to remember them by. I surprised myself by even laughing aloud several times, while reading of my frustrations growing up with two older brothers. After perusing some old entries, memories of a former life, I could not help staying up late tonight to write a little about my new world.

I had not heard of Soldier's Peak before the Grey Wardens came into my life, and upon arriving I could understand why it had escaped the notice of most Fereldens. It is cloistered away in the mountains, hidden from view to those below, and entrance is achieved by navigating a labyrinth of tunnels. Upon entering the tunnels, Ser Whil rightly noted that the maze was better security for the Wardens than any number of guards.

The fact that the fortress is well-hidden does not also mean it is small. It is enormous, looming over us all as we exited the tunnels, boasting numerous towers, all stretching toward the sky. I have been here near a month and I am still impressed by its sheer size. As for the interior, I am only just becoming comfortable finding the places I frequent most: the kitchen, the stillroom, the library, and my own quarters.

Everything was a whirlwind upon arrival. Ser Whil was clearly excited to be home, pointing out everything on the busy grounds as I followed, certainly overwhelmed. Master Zevran came then and sent Ser Whil to meet with the Commander, and took me into the keep. He told me little things about the rooms or how things are done as we walked along, and brought me to a web of corridors several floors up. He had me choose my own room, politely showing me which remained unoccupied. Now, I claim a room facing east, overlooking the forest, crested with mountains in the distance. It is truly a lovely view. The room was empty when we came upon it, but when I returned that evening I found a wardrobe and vanity, bookcase and fully-made bed. Master Zevran even gave me the only key.

Since that day, I have met many more of the Wardens and other residents of Soldier's Peak, but none stand out to me more than Madge. She is the mother of a new Warden, Thom, who volunteered from West Hill, and is a petite, round woman. I am told by Ser Whil that when the company left with Thom, they found Madge had come too. The Commander tried to warn her of the dangers for her son, but she would have none of it. She has no other family, and she said that she was sure she would be able to make herself useful. Ser Whil says she told the Commander off in style, listing all the household tasks she was sure Wardens would never get to without help: mending, cooking, cleaning, running an estate. She convinced the Commander that she was invaluable, and from what I have seen, she was not bluffing. Some of the Wardens affectionately call her 'Warden-Mother', a name that rings true. Most of the time, Madge is running about with this unyielding energy, commanding all the other helpers about their chores and such, scolding the Wardens for putting their feet up on the table or sneaking desserts before dinner. Her shouts know no rank, either; she will just as soon as command the Commander or Master Zevran as anyone else. As Ser Whil says, she runs a tight ship, but for all her bluster I believe she truly cares for everyone as her own child.

As for the others… I spend most of my time with Horace and the other mages, in the stillroom, or out in the forest. Horace has been very good to me, ensuring that I am introduced to everyone properly and that I know the way of things. I have not had cause to see much of the Commander, and neither do I interact much with many of the Wardens or recruits. I run into Master Zevran now and again, often in the kitchen; I believe he likes to eat before or after the horde of Wardens, which is understandable considering their immense appetites. He seems to be the only one immune to Madge's reprimands and the only one able to unsettle her; he flirts with her a great deal, always making her blush with his smiles and suggestive comments, and usually she scowls at him and gives him the pastry or wine he's begging for, and he gives her a smile and a kiss on the forehead. There seems to be this running joke with the two of them concerning her bosom…the first thing he did seeing her upon his return to the Peak was ask to lay his head upon it. I was a little shocked but Madge seemed to be expecting such comments and waved him off. At any rate, I hope it is a joke, otherwise Master Zevran might be considered quite lewd, at least to Madge, that is.

There are a great many fantastic things at Soldier's Peak; perhaps I only think so because I have never been around magic before. I am always in awe of what Horace and the others can do with just a thought... watching the mages engage in battle practice the other day was a sight like no other I have seen. Horace, being chiefly a healer, stayed by me as the 'battlemages' fought the others, explaining the spells and their techniques. I must admit, I was positively entranced.

There are other aspects of wonder, too. The stillroom is host to a number of exotic and rare substances, not all of which I recognize. The most intriguing is a large glass decanter with a spigot in the back corner, filled with a thick, red liquid. It must be blood, but it looks different than human blood… I haven't quite gotten the courage to ask Horace what it is. Another strange thing is this small room off the kitchen- Madge tells me it was a storage room or pantry. I suppose it still is, but the whole room has been frozen solid inside, with a sliding metal door. The handles are wooden and wrapped in padding, or your hand would freeze as soon as you touch it, surely. Every time the mages pass it, they open the door and cast some sort of cold spell inside. Horace once did so while he was talking to me, not even thinking of his actions, it had become such a habit. He told me the room was Madge's idea, and that it helps preserve food. I can't deny he is right, and that Madge is much cleverer than she might appear to some.

There is so much more to say about my new life, but alas, I am out of practice with a quill. Before my handwriting becomes completely worthless I should get to sleep. Another day awaits.

* * *

~x~

9:31 Firstfall

_The journal is made of the finest soft Antivan leather, larger than most of its kind, and contains heavy, unlined parchment pages. The leather cover is oversized, so that to close the journal, the owner wraps the pages with the cover's extension before securing it closed with a length of leather cord, wound around a heavy metal button._

Ah, ciò che una lunga giornata. Back over a month and still so much to do. I harbor a soft spot for that boy, truly I do, but these days I often want to flee for Antiva and leave such boring and tedious work to him. I would not abandon him (he would surely be lost without me), but a man needs to have fun, and all these stone walls and responsibilities can drive someone out of their mind.

Alistair got word of some important mission or another tonight, and promised to tell me of it in the morning. If it is adventuresome enough, I will insist on accompanying him, and if not…well, what is it they say? 'When the Commander is away, the Zevran will play'? Yes, that is how it goes.

I cannot fault him for my restlessness, but I do not understand why he will not seek out any relaxation for himself. He has done enough, no? The Blight, then not only making the Peak a fit place to live but filling it with Wardens in so short a time. Some of these new Wardens might even make something of themselves.

If I am to be truthful I must admit he concerns me. I had thought that after the threat of the Blight was gone, he would unclench, relax some, but now he is even more single-minded than before. Well, at least since that horrid incident with that _cagna_ of a sister. That was the beginning of his change from boy to man, I would say. It certainly pulled his head out of the clouds, taught him to be a little more selfish. Without that incident, Aedan and I would have never convinced him to trade his virginity for the sake of 'practice',… my head begins to ring with only the memory of all we drank that night.

Ah, well… he would never say so, but I believe that while the crack in his armor began that day, it was the death of Aedan that finished it. We all mourned, but apart from Leliana, Alistair mourned the most. He lost his brother, the last Warden, and also something else. That he could see romance survive even during such dangerous times gave him hope, I think. I expected him to react more passionately, ranting or wailing or some such, yet he was cold and silent.

I know enough of having your heart turn to stone to see it in another, and to lose his brother in the same moment…it is no wonder he broke. I am happy that after some time…grieving… no amount of drink and whores could keep him from the more honorable pursuit of rebuilding the Wardens, but now it is all he thinks of. There was even a girl in West Hill willing to entertain him in ways you don't usually see outside of the high-end brothels in Orlais, and he refused her, despite my advice.

It isn't healthy. Perhaps he needs an escape as much as I … I do not think he would take kindly to being kidnapped.

I worry for the boy, proof I am growing soft in old age. Enough of this.

Oh dal Costruttore, ho bisogno di una vacanza. If not for those damned Crows I would be in Antiva now, brandy in one hand and a girl in the other. Or a boy. Or both! Such are the joys of my Antiva City.

* * *

~x~

9:31 Firstfall

_This entry appears in a formal-looking ledger. The item is black, unassuming, and appears to be fairly new._

Results of last week's Joining: 18 recruits, 9 survivors. The lowest survival rate yet since reestablishing Soldier's Peak.

Of the survivors:

Horace Catan, human (m), mage of the Circle – Healer (thank the Maker for him; he's a good sort)

Pol Tulach, human (m), warrior of West Hill

Alyce Orvir, elf (f), archer of Redcliffe

Severin Marcoux, human (m), rogue of Orlais

Ciaran Dewar, elf (f), rogue (of 'everywhere', as she puts it)

Cormac MacNaois, human (m), warrior of Honnleath (or, close enough)

Marta Smios, human (f), warrior of Redcliffe

Andrew Shaw, human (m), rouge of Ulstermont

Fionn Harper, human (m), archer of Lake Calenhad village

Notes:

Although he initially denied it, my instincts about Cormac proved correct- he was in training to be a templar before the Blight. After some questioning, he admitted it to me before the Joining, saying that he was concerned the Wardens would be forced to send him back if we knew. It seems that in the chaos of the Blight, he saw a chance to escape. Cormac said he volunteered for the templars; apparently it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Fancy that. He was some ways away from taking his vows, however, so in order to use his templar abilities he will require more training. That will come from me, seeing as there's no one else here to do it. I think I will see who else might be able to learn templar abilities and train a few more as well while I am at it. It certainly wouldn't hurt.

I am fairly certain Severin is running from something, but it doesn't really concern me. He's a Warden now- protected, and if they can find him way up here Zevran has some explaining to do regarding the security of this place.

Letter from Amaranthine today- apparently they found a cavern on the grounds of the Vigil, or something, and it looks to go fairly deep. They've heard some odd noises and there have been incidents with darkspawn among the villagers. I will leave tomorrow with some others to look in on it. Surely Fergus is a bit anxious but I am sure it's nothing. Someone should attend to the straggler darkspawn anyway, and that is what Wardens do.

* * *

Ah, ciò che una lunga giornata = Oh, what a long day.

Cagna = bitch

Oh dal Costruttore, ho bisogno di una vacanza = Oh by the Maker, I need a vacation.


End file.
